


No-Woman's-Land

by reconditarmonia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, First Time, Loyalty, Nipple Play, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reconditarmonia/pseuds/reconditarmonia
Summary: At sunset, Major Marya gave the general’s orders to Geran directly: go to the ruins, and kill as many enemy soldiers as you can. No captain or lieutenant to give the orders, no platoon to carry them out; just her.Marya has her orders: take her company and descend on the weakened camp at dawn. The general didn’t see a need to order her not to follow Geran tonight.
Relationships: Berserker/Officer She's Absolutely Loyal To, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	No-Woman's-Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



Major Marya stands five foot four, and by day, she casts a six foot shadow behind her. It’s not her powers; whatever the enemy’s rumors say about the woman they call the “demon soldier,” the powers don’t actually look like anything. Her shadow is Private Geran.

Tonight, Marya’s shadow is a few hundred yards ahead of her, in the ancient city ruins that their scouts reported the enemy forces were camped in. At sunset, Marya gave the general’s orders to Geran directly: go to the ruins, and kill as many enemy soldiers as you can. No captain or lieutenant to give the orders, no platoon to carry them out; just her.

Marya has her orders: take her company and descend on the weakened camp at dawn. The general didn’t see a need to order her not to follow Geran tonight — but the city’s on their maps, and Geran wasn’t hard to follow once Marya reached the outskirts. The trail of bodies ensured that. Now Marya’s standing in the ruins of a second floor, looking down at Geran brutally smashing through enemy soldiers, admiring the power she puts behind each stroke of her flail, the utter lack of any grace.

It’s what the general wanted from her; from Marya. Marya sees the swarm grow larger; sees an enemy soldier get in a stab at Geran’s side and another one pierce her boot. Geran stumbles only for a moment, then, with a roar — Marya loves the sound — continues fighting, heedless of the pain or the blood. But as Marya watches, she starts to see Geran falter; she’s getting slower, and takes another blade to her gut, a blow to her head. And she thinks, against her orders: _I didn’t send her here for her to die_.

Marya scrambles down, powers making her land lightly, and fights through the swarm to her soldier. Geran turns toward her and swings her flail at her, and it takes all the agility Marya has to dodge it. For a moment she’s afraid she’s miscalculated. When Geran fights like this, she doesn’t stop until every enemy around her is dead, or she is; the latter hasn’t happened yet, but the former is what brought her before Marya’s court martial to begin with. What made Marya coldly decide that she’d be more use alive than dead, if she had an officer who knew how to point her in the right direction.

Marya thrusts her sword through another enemy that she hears coming up behind her, and Geran strikes down another. Then Marya sees it: Geran’s legs buckle under her, and she doesn’t raise the flail again. Marya knows it’ll only be a moment before she wrenches it up from the ground, but a moment is all she needs to put her hand on Geran’s shoulder, reach out through the ether to the place in the forest where she left her talisman, and yank.

They materialize in the clearing with a whoosh of displaced air. Geran looks around wildly, eyes glittering, for foes to kill.

“Private,” Marya barks. Geran’s eyes dart to hers, and for a moment they focus and Geran sees her; then they close, and she staggers, folding to the ground like a building crumbling.

Marya crouches, pulls Geran’s boot off, shoves up her shirt; unscrews her canteen and slops water over Geran’s wounds. Blood runs off her abdomen and her leg into the dirt. Marya pulls off her own uniform jacket and unbuttons the sweat-soaked shirt beneath with shaking fingers before taking that off as well. Hardly noticing the sudden cold on her skin, she grips the hem with both hands and yanks once, twice, but it doesn’t tear; she reaches for her sword and makes a hole, tears strips from the shirt to wad and bandage Geran’s belly. She’s never been much of a field medic, but Geran might not last to see a field medic, much less a doctor, if she doesn’t do something.

“Why are you doing this?” croaks Geran. Her voice is thick, and when she opens her mouth to speak, blood dribbles from the corner of it. Marya doesn’t even think; she presses her hand against Geran’s chest and lets Geran’s body take her power. A doctor or a medic would know how to give it; she can only let Geran take it and take it, drinking it up until she’s dizzy herself. If she weren’t already kneeling by Geran’s side, she’d probably stumble and collapse.

Her voice comes out harsh, as she finds herself gasping for breath. “Didn’t you have any training? A soldier has to take care of her weapon.”

She can feel Geran stiffen under her hand. “All right, sir. Consider that knocking the rust off.” Her voice already sounds stronger; when Marya looks, she can see Geran’s wounds scabbing up. Her own skin feels paper-thin; her ears ring. Geran bares her teeth, and without the glitter of battle, her eyes look very dark. She wraps her fingers around Marya’s wrist, and drags Marya’s hand downwards. “Put an edge on me and I’ll empty that city."

Marya doesn’t even stop to think about what would happen to her if anyone found out. A soldier under her command — but the only thing she can think of is seeing Geran tearing through the enemy like a whirlwind through grass, of feeling Geran under her hands as sharp and familiar as her sword, and she wants this so badly her head spins.

She unbuttons Geran’s breeches and shoves her hand into her smallclothes. Finding her dry, she pulls at the binding around Geran’s breasts and bows her head to close her lips around a nipple; licks her finger and thumb (getting, even now, a faint taste of Geran that makes her shudder) to pinch and rub the other at the same time, dragging a sound from the back of Geran’s throat. She’s never heard that sound from Geran before, and she needs to hear it again; she leans over to drags her tongue over Geran’s other nipple and feels it stiffen under her mouth, runs her teeth over it and swears she can feel the vibration of Geran’s groan.

Geran’s hands are on her waist, and then the world goes off-kilter for a moment again — but it’s only because Geran’s lifting Marya up, without any apparent effort, to straddle her knee. Marya can brace her hand on the ground by Geran’s side and bend to lick and suck at her breasts some more; this isn’t about her, but she can’t help rocking against Geran’s leg just a little when she hears more little whines and breaths from Geran’s mouth. 

When Marya feels Geran’s hands cup her breasts — the sudden shock of skin against cold skin, since the remains of her shirt are still lying nearby — she reacts on instinct, twisting away. “Let me —” This time, when she shoves her hand back into Geran’s breeches, Geran’s wet and blood-hot, and Marya can’t help grinding hard against Geran’s leg when she feels it, slicking her fingers before rubbing Geran’s clit. Such a small touch, but she can see the charge of it shake all six feet of Geran’s frame, down to her heels digging into the ground.

Geran’s fingers close around her wrist, and she’s ready for Geran to move her hand to touch her better, to press her fingers in the right place, but Geran only holds her wrist tightly. Then, Geran’s other hand is in her hair, pulling her head up so that her eyes meet Geran’s. Her soldier’s voice is unsteady, but there’s a challenge in it: “Lick me.”

“What’s that?” Marya crooks her fingers against Geran’s clit again, dragging another sound through her gritted teeth.

Geran’s chest rises and falls with shallow breaths; her eyes don’t let go of Marya’s. “…Sir.”

So Marya grinds against her thigh one more time and rolls off between her legs, getting her fingers in Geran’s waistband and pulling her breeches and smallclothes down to her knees so she can lick up the sour taste of her and press her mouth to Geran’s clit.

Someday, she doesn’t know when, she’ll vows she’ll get her hands and mouth all over Geran’s shoulders, the strong arms she uses to wield that flail when Marya sends her into battle. She’ll take her to a steam-bath, see the naked curves of her muscles gleam in the firelight, she’ll — she finds herself saying it out loud, muffled against Geran’s cunt, _put my hand in you, leave my mark on you with my teeth_.

Geran bucks against her mouth, grabs a fistful of her hair. “God — sir — please —” and Marya so badly wants to do it now, but she’s said she’s taking care of her weapon, she won’t send Geran back into battle with a wound inflicted by her own commanding officer — she sinks her teeth deep into Geran’s thigh anyway, hears her ragged cry, then licks at her again as fervently though it’s through her tongue that Geran’s body can drain hers to heal the bite. She doesn’t know if it’s her teeth or her tongue or her power that makes Geran come.

Afterwards, when Geran's pulled her trousers back up and her boot back on, slung her flail over her shoulder, she asks: "Do you want to come and watch?" Her teeth bare like a grin or a growl.

"No," Marya says. She'd like to see Geran destroy the enemy, in truth, but she's still strung-out from using so much power, needs her cot for the few hours before she leads her company to attack. "Report back at dawn," she only says instead of _make sure you come back_.

Geran kisses her then, shockingly, and, more shockingly, runs her hand over Marya's breast, where Marya's buttoned her jacket over the ruins of her shirt. "Yes, sir. I owe you, anyway." She turns her back and goes.


End file.
